Penance
by The Unlikely Lass
Summary: In a post-War world, the Ministry rely on former rebel sympathisers to help them hunt down and punish Death Eaters. For Valeria Rosier, she has spent the past eighteen months of her life existing only to serve those she'd gladly see dead. But an underground movement is beginning, that seeks to derail the Ministry and restart the Wizarding War from within.
1. Prologue: The Beginning

**Eighteen Months Ago**

"Filthy scum. Do you think we don't know what you've been up to? You and your entire worthless family?"

Another fist was driven into Valeria's face, and a warm sticky fluid began to slowly stream down her mouth, covering her lips. "Now you listen to me Miss _Rosier_, you have three options in front of you. One: I kill you here and now. Two: we wait 'til the Wizengamot are ready to sort you out, letting Elphias Doge and the rest of them find you guilty of consorting with Death Eaters and planning, _maybe even assisting, _in mass murder and leave you to the mercy of the Dementors. Or, finally," he chuckled lowly, "and this is where it gets really interesting, you help us. You give us names and details about your _friends_ and what they've been up to. You help us prosecute them and I will see to it that you are saved from death, from the Dementors … maybe even the Death Eaters if we are feeling generous. What'd you say?"

"You can't be much loved in the Ministry," she retorted arrogantly, licking away a thick layer of blood. "How on earth did they believe that there wasn't at least one part of you that wasn't soaring when Yaxley put you as Minister for Magic? I take it the only reason you're recruiting is to get back in their good books?" A small snide smile of triumph spread across Valeria's face, as she watched his face blanch – clearly she'd hit a nerve.

The man looked apprehensively to one side before setting his eyes back on Valeria. "Do you know how hard I fought to stop them from controlling me? How much I suffered? Of course you don't, because you are some prissy little girl who has had her entire life planned for her, living in luxury. You and your kind are so selfish, I bet you can't ever see beyond your own 'problems'. So what if I want to get in the Ministry's good books? I'm trying to do something good for my government, my country, unlike some." Valeria stared up at the man, who stood a full head taller than her, likely a good 6'2. She couldn't bring herself to glare at him, despite the harsh words, after all there was a lot of truth in what he'd said.

"That doesn't stop you from being utterly pathetic," she hissed bitterly. The second she spoke, she realised that she had crossed the proverbial line. Powerless to do anything as she was pressed up against the wall, she watched as Pius drove her fist into her jawbone, hearing a hollow click. Everything went blurry, as her mouth filled up with the taste of rust and salt. Her eyes rolled back into her head, as she stumbled to the side, frantically trying to stop herself from falling to the ground.

When she finally regained herself, Valeria spat out a gob full of dark blood and raised her head to meet his eyes. The man had aged rapidly since having been freed from the Imperius curse, his hair was more salt than pepper and it looked as if he'd never had a full night's sleep. He was panting hard and clearly thinking through what he was supposed to do with her. She panicked. He was going to kill her if she wasn't careful.

"I want to live."

Pius' eyes filled with a deranged mania and a dark smile appeared across his face. He could smell her weakness. He was already likely planning on how best to torture her with that. He raised a hand to her cheek, grinning maliciously. "I know, that's why I asked you and not your cousin or brother: they'd betray us far too easily for glory. They're not scared of anything. You, Miss Rosier are a coward and I am sure that you won't forget that we own you and your _pathetic_ life. I'm sure that's enough to keep you loyal, no?"

Pius Thicknesse knew he had won.

**AN: This is my first time writing in yonks, so if could spare just a couple of seconds to let me know what you think, it would be _very_ greatly received!**

**I've also created a playlist to go alongside it, each song corresponds to a chapter (it's in order :) ) **** watch?v=k_VMLWHfrE8&amp;list=PLecwzXKaemi8tys1B5cCfoFC5M5dHSLi6**


	2. Losses and Gains

**Present Day**

How was it that she had lost so much in so little time? What joy was there in her pathetic existence now? Valeria had turned against those whom she had once found kinship, only to embrace those she once held in such contempt. As the war ended she had been entirely at their mercy and in a position where she willingly sacrificed the lives of her fellow supporters, friends … even her own father for _this_: a prolonged life, lived in agony. There was no glory to be had in that.

The cold, bitter stream of morning sunlight poured through her moth-eaten curtains, blinding her for a few seconds as her eyes adjusted. She pulled herself up from the mattress she slept in, hating the nausea she felt when she woke up in the cesspool she called home. How had she, Valeria Rosier, daughter of Xanthus Rosier and Ariella Nott, families from two the purest and greatest wizarding houses come to live like a rat?

She groaned as she forced herself off the ground, changing as brusquely as possible. The turmoil of the War had left a mark in the ministry; there was not a day when there wasn't chaos, where the Minister of Magic was not called upon to resolve an inter-departmental issue. It had become Valeria's job in the days following the Dark One's downfall to identify any person they brought in and state whether or not she recognised them from what had become known as her 'vigilante' days and to track down anyone they were struggling to pinpoint.

For the past month, she had worked with the famed Ronald Weasley, who had been made an auror several months prior, in the capture of Walden Macnair – who was currently facing multiple accounts of murder, treason and for having supported the Dark One. It was only the day before that he had received the Dementor's kiss.

The small apartment she now resided in was nothing compared to the luxury she had once lived in. After all, she _was_ Valeria Rosier, one of the most renowned and feared Slytherin during her time in Hogwarts, a girl who wanted for nothing, because she already had it. Now she could barely scrimp together enough money to pay rent on a flat that a rat wouldn't even find appealing to dwell in. The ministry paid her only enough to ensure that she was at least sufficiently rested and watered before sending her out into the field.

Rosier Manor had been long burnt to the ground by careless Ministry agents, along with her house elf and hounds Every possession she had ever owned had been destroyed, everything except the emerald green ballgown and small necklace she happened to be wearing on the night upon which the Ministry had descended.

Valeria shook her head, trying to shake away the memories. It wasn't something she could bear to think of, the past was unchangeable. Her robes hung loosely, several sizes too big for her unhealthily slender figure – they were however, the best quality she could afford with the little money she had left over each month. Her dirty blonde hair lay curled around the base of her throat and her scorching violet eyes displayed all the coldness and bitterness to the world that she felt. Her appearance was at best haggard, worlds apart from her youth, she had little time for the vanity she had once thought so precious. She couldn't even bring herself to look in the mirror as she passed through the dirt covered door.

The morning light was slowly retreating and had almost disappeared through the thick haze of clouds as she took the first steps out of the block of flats. For years, she'd never so much as had to look at a Muggle. Now, there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't have to endure there company. Her flat was at the other side of London from the Ministry and required her to take multiple trains on the underground network, surrounded by the filthy talentless. At first it was an arduous task, not understanding muggle technology nor the correct etiquette, but as time had gone by, she'd grown used to it all, accustomed to their presence. That being said, it was a relief when she was finally able to tap 62442 into the familiar red telephone box and get herself far away from them all.

Valeria barely had time to move two feet from the box when an all too familiar voice called out to her, "excuse me, I need to check your wand-"

"_Really?"_ Valeria's eyes sliced through Eugene, who was hobbling across the Atrium floor towards her, stopped dead in his path. She watched as his eyes widened slightly as he moved backwards feebly. A small smile tugged up at the corners of her lips, she still had it. She made her way silently to the nearly full elevator across the way, all of it's inhabitants stared at her with the familiar looks of contempt. It was amazing that after so long they still treated her the same way.

She gave a curt nod to Armanda Lisle, who pressed the button for Valeria's floor without having to be asked; she had a habit of trying to speed up any processes that involved her having to be exposed too long to the former Death Eater. She was more often than not grateful for the instincts that told average people to stay away from her, she valued the space to breathe and think clearly away from their constant judgement. Still, the complete isolation was beginning to wear away at her core; Valeria had been brought up surrounded by a loving family, the focus of most social occasions: a true socialite.

Her office was nothing more than a small dingy room that only just fit her desk and filing cabinets. Notes from the past 18 months' worth of cases were scattered across every possible surface, in utter disarray. Strangely though, her office felt far more homely than the office she resided in. A small purple Interdepartmental memo shot past her head, lodging itself behind her vastly overused calendar, bringing her eyes to the red cross that marked today out.

The day's date had _Howard Twomey's sentence date_ scrawled across the small space dedicated to it on the calendar. She looked at the four words with a hollow sense animating from her chest, she had once been exceptionally close to Howard, that was, up until the point in which he had dedicated his life to becoming one of the more callous Death Eaters. She had been one of two spies whose evidence had helped seal his guilty verdict. Today was the day he would find out what fate he was too endure and in spite of this Valeria had been forbidden from attending, not allowed in any way to console her old friend. Admittedly this had always been the case, the only time she had been allowed to attend a sentencing was in the case of her father – the only trial she had wanted to be an earth away from. That day had been meant as a punishment, a reminder of the power her superiors wielded over her pathetic life. Amsen would never let her forget, she had to uphold the rules or pay the price.

Valeria bit back a small tear that was trying to make it's way forward. As her conviction count increased, she stopped feeling guilty, after all it was either her life or theirs. This, however, was a lot closer to home than usual. Howard was only a year younger than her, had played Quidditch with her, took her to the Yule Ball. He was the closest thing she had to a brother. _Pull yourself together_, she chastised herself. She had learnt at a young age that emotions left you vulnerable and vulnerability meant risking your own survival.

Valeria moved to dislodge the plane, noting the familiar series of scrawls written in her boss's barely legible handwriting. _'Morning, I need to meet with you ASAP this morning. I hear we both have leads and it's been a good week since we've managed to capture any of __those sons of bitches__ You-Know-Who's Supporters. Arnie. P.S. Get something warm in you, rumour has it you're not your usual cheery self this morning. P.P.S. If you're making tea, feel free me to grab me one too. P.P.P.S Stop intimidating poor Eugene, you know he's just trying to do his job. _

She shook off her muggle trench coat, that covered her robes, grateful to get rid of the cursed piece of clothing, before attempting to straighten her black robes into a somewhat more presentable fashion. As she made her way out of her small office, the light from her window slowly began filling up her office in a beautiful orange glow – a stark contrast to the bleak grey that would likely have actually been outside.

A piercing laughter echoed around the corridor, "Oh Arnie, you're brilliant, you know that? I wouldn't be surprised if you get appointed Head of the Magical Law Enforcement soon, you realise you'd be the youngest ever." Valeria sighed heavily. As if the job wasn't bad enough, she was forced to endure Roberta Havisham. Havisham was a young woman whose head was in permanent limbo between her own and their boss's precious backsides.

Arnold Peasegood had rapidly risen up as one of the Golden Boys of the Ministry. Joining at the age of 17, with no N.E.W.T.s, as nothing more than an Obliviator in the time before the Dark Lord's rising, in the years following he had clambered up the ranks. And now, aged just 24 he had succeeded in becoming one of the most renowned Hit Wizards, with the highest imprisonment rate in the country. In spite of all he had done, he still managed to retain that eternal, boyish optimistic.

Valeria could almost stomach being in his presence, were it not was not for his number one fan. "Miss Havasham, you're going to give me an ego," he replied coyly, "but it's nice to see you so happy this early in the morning."

As she opened the door to Arnold's office, she was greeted by the same sight that she encountered whenever the three of them were due for a meeting. Havisham sat quietly perched on the edge of the desk, wearing a questionable outfit, make-up done immaculately and leaning in towards her boss at a questionable angle. She regularly ran her perfectly manicured fingers through her unnaturally straight jet black hair, which lay a good way down her tailored robes.

In contrast however, Arnold sat slouched in his leather chair, legs stretched out across the desk, at an angle away from Havisham. He took barely any pride in his appearance: his blonde mop of hair was in dire need of a cut and his green eyes were rimmed in red. Had he not had a meeting with Amsden later that day, he would have likely been wearing nothing more formal than a sweater, jeans and trainers, instead he was dressed in waistcoat and trousers, still donned with the familiar pair of worn black converses. It was obvious when looking at him as to why he'd recently won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, not that he was inclined to have people know.

Both pairs of eyes darted to look at her, one filled with loathing, the other warmth. "Oh, you know me, _always _keen to help. Macnair yesterday, Twomey is likely going to be heading the same way today. It's so glad to be getting the 'bad guys' the punishment they deserve." Valeria knew that was intended for her. Every day, it was the same. Every single day, Valeria had to sit quietly on the sidelines of Roberta's biting remarks and constant flirting with Arnold. If she wasn't acutely aware of what would happen if she were to throw a punch her way, she'd have floored the woman a long time ago. It might have helped if she acted with some subtly, but a wolf in sheep's clothing would have been less conspicuous.

"Val! How are we?" Arnold asked, ignoring Havisham's remarks. Despite having worked together for nearly two years, Valeria had yet to fathom why he was always so eager to pretend to consider her a friend. He may have been her boss, but there was not reason for him to be so constantly friendly towards her, Amsen certainly didn't.

"Valeria," she corrected, as she did far too often.

"You know how much I love that face you do, _Valerie_."

"I've got news on Heleana Fawley."

"You didn't answer my question." _Oh, don't worry about me, I feel the same as I do every single time you ask me that stupid question: a _wonderful_ combination of depressed and bored, with just the teensiest inclination to go on a killing spree starting with your good self. _Instead of justifying his question with a reply, she shot him a cold look.

Arnold gave a haughty laugh, as he put up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. What can you tell me about her?" They continued to stare at each other for a good few seconds.

It was Valeria who yielded first, focusing on the file she carried in her hand as she threw it atop his desk. "Last spotted in Upper Weighton, I've been informed that she's opened up a small shop selling muggle products."

"Muggle products?"

"Electrical goods, I think. Tolevesions, radios, compurturs, that kind of thing."

"Hmm, not too sure she'll be selling those exact things." Arnold shot her a sympathetic look. Whilst her knowledge of the muggle world had come on a treat in the time she had worked for him, she still didn't understand a lot of the fundamentals. Then again, most of the Ministry didn't – if he hadn't been born to a muggle family, he wouldn't think he would either.

Roberta cut through their conversation, seizing on the opportunity to throw another proverbial punch. "It's not her fault if she didn't pay attention in Muggle Studies, I'm sure her parents would have hit the roof if she had." Arnold shot her an annoyed look. To his credit, he at least tried to keep the mutt on a leash, though he rarely seemed to notice her comments.

"Any potential to catch any others?"

"Possibly. Her brother and his wife, Cameron and Octavia might have kept contact. I doubt they'd be foolish enough to congregate together, however it's likely a successful raid will help lead us to them."

"Why don't you just know where they are?" asked Havisham scathingly.

"You know how many people we've imprisoned. Do you not think people have worked out there's at least one person working for the Ministry? It's become nigh on impossible to find out information like we used to, everyone has got their guards up."

Arnold rose up in her defence, "I know Valeria. You've done a stellar job so far."

They sat for several hours, debating the retrieval tactics and how best to try and gain some evidence for her prosecution. For every suggestion made by one, another cut it down. It was only Arnold's impending meeting with the Head of the department that the meeting ended; they could have stayed there for another week and still not made any concrete decisions. The second he left, the two women scrambled out of the door, eager to get away from the other.

Valeria's office door stood slightly ajar. She furrowed her brows, she could have sworn she'd locked the door. Someone was sat in her chair, facing the window, away from her. She let out a cry of indignation. Nobody had the right to be there, not even Arnold would dare. Her office was her space. If they wanted her, they could contact her in the same way as everyone else did. Before she could threaten to have his kneecaps broken, a man's voice broke through the silence, "Miss Rosier, you would not believe how hard it has been to get the time to see you." She knew that voice.

A brilliant smile spread across Valeria's face, "I haven't seen _you_ since you killed that Creevey boy."

**AN: I should probably mention that I have dyslexia so I'm not brilliant at proof-reading, plus my spelling/ grammar isn't always perfect. Feel free to pull me up if I miss anything. :)**


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